


Briefs

by BeneficialAddiction



Series: Boxers, Briefs, and Other Shorts [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Phil Coulson, Hawkeye on the DL, Milk Runs, The missions kind, briefs, new agent Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: Relatively new to SHIELD, Clint Barton hates missions briefs, at least until Senior Agent Phil Coulson steps in.





	

Clint hates missions briefs. They suck all kinds of ass and more than anything serve to highlight exactly how low on the food chain he currently is here at SHIELD. While other agents are quietly provided with file folders and all the information they could ask for, treated like the competent, capable adults that they are, Clint is very nearly ignored all together. 

It's been kept pretty quiet that the new guy is actually Hawkeye, the World's Greatest Marksman. While the name may have afforded him a little bit of respect within the organization, he understands the reasons that SHIELD Director Nick Fury himself provided in order to convince him that temporary anonymity was the better option. 

Instead, for now, he's just Level Three Agent Clint Barton, and has been treated as such. It's not hard to play the grunt, the obnoxious idiot, the man with nothing more to offer than good aim, but it's quickly getting old because really? These people are supposed to be intelligence agents, the best of the best, and yet none of them, not a one, has been able to see beyond the façade he's put up, has even hinted that they suspect he might be more than any other ex-Marine sniper you can pick up at the VA for a dime a dozen. 

Still, as much as he'd rather stick a hot poker in his own eye, Clint sits through his pre-op planning sessions and behaves himself, gathers up every scrap of information that he can from what is provided to his fellow agents and doesn't bitch. He's smart, he can put enough of the pieces together to get by, though admittedly he's started to accumulate an impressive collection of write-ups for insubordination. Snarling questions and demanding answers over the comms, moving position without acknowledgement from his missions leader, going off-script in order to fulfill his missions objective – how the hell these things equate to insubordination he doesn't know, and really, he doesn't fucking care. 

He's had just about enough of these men and women who expect him to point and shoot without so much as a where and why, who treat him like a tool with no mental function behind it. He'd been promised more when he'd been recruited, by an unassuming agent who was far more than he seemed one rainy night in Caracas. Phil Coulson, Fury's right-hand man and living legend at SHIELD, he wouldn't be stupid enough to just throw Clint up in a nest with a gun and snide grin and a _shut the hell up, Barton_ like the others do. Unfortunately Clint hasn't seen him since Venezuela, since the man put a bullet in his thigh and dragged him – soggy and complaining loudly – onto a quinjet. 

He wishes he has. 

Partly for reasons that are... slightly less than professional. 

What, he's got daddy issues and a competency kink, sue him. 

How could he not be attracted to the only man who'd managed to even get close? 

More than anything though he's wondering just how bad it will have to get before Fury's had his fill of whatever sick kicks he's getting out of this and pulls Clint in for the real down and dirty shit he'd actually been hunted down for. He gets that he needs to be processed through the system, that he needs to be evaluated and trucked through basic training, the holes in his education filled, but for fuck's sake... he's made it to Level Three faster than any other agent in SHIELD history. Isn't it about time he's rescued from the ranks? 

At this rate he thinks he'll be grey-haired or dead by the time he's made Specialist, but the status, all the things he was promised by Agent Phil Coulson, they'll be worth it if they're ever granted, so he holds out. 

He doesn't have to wait as long as he expects he will. 

It's a Tuesday like any other that Clint steps into a missions brief under Senior Agent Marco Tandy, homophobe and asshole extraordinaire. SHIELD might not allow any form of harassment or discrimination, but Tandy clearly hadn't gotten the memo. He outright enjoys any discomfort Clint might suffer on mission, and always had a nasty comment ready on the end of his tongue. He takes a strange, perverse pleasure in forcing Clint into undercover roles he's not meant to fill, threatens to use him as bait on honeypot missions, and ignores Clint's requests for any and every little thing he can get away with. He's the worst offender when it comes to leaving Clint in the dark, and the ops he leads, even the milk runs, tend to go tits up almost before they get started. 

That's why they've all been gathered up in fact – Tandy, Jessup, Coldwater, Stevens, and Clint – the original team from an op that went south two and a half weeks ago. Clint had gotten put on suspension for that one, not for long but long enough, and the team found out upon failure to achieve missions goal that it was actually a much more important op than they'd originally realized. This little meeting, this missions brief is the team's second chance, the opportunity to actually retrieve the information SHIELD needed and right Tandy's little fuck-up in time to be home for Operation Bluebloods. 

So maybe not a brief like any other. 

Coulson is standing in the hallway with another agent, one Jasper Sitwell, their heads close together when Clint comes down to the conference room, the last one to arrive. 

"Agent Barton," he greets casually, the first words he's spoken since he dropped Clint off in the med wing, bleeding from a nine millimeter slug, and Clint startles so hard he doesn't actually greet the man in return, just blinks stupidly and very nearly bounces off the door jam. 

His mind spins as he settles into a chair at the back of the room – he hasn't seen Coulson in months, nearly a year, surely there's a reason he's magically appeared now? Clint seems to be the only one confused by this, but ten minutes into Tandy's droning on about perfect (-ly awful) vantage points, Coulson and Sitwell slip into the room, files in hand and stride directly to the front. 

"Agent Tandy, have a seat," Coulson says, not even sparing the man a glance. "Agent Sitwell and I will be taking lead on this op from this point forward." 

Tandy immediately begins to splutter and protest, goes an ugly, angry red and demands to know why he's being removed, but Coulson cuts him ruthlessly down to size with a handful of efficient words. 

"You've already run this op into the ground once Agent," he replies, not a murmur of emotion to be heard in his voice, as though he can't be bothered to care. "By failing to provide relevant information and use your assets to their full potential. Hawkeye!" 

"Yeah Boss," Clint replies immediately, instinctively, tipping forward so his chair lands back on all four legs, going from lounging indolence to tightly coiled attention at the crack of the man's whip-like command. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes he's been outed at last, acknowledges the startled looks and gasps of shock and recognition all around him, but he finds he's not particularly affected by it. They had to find out sooner or later – really it's just crazy no one's put it together yet, even if he has been keeping his archery practice on the down low. 

"Tell me what's wrong with the perch Tandy's got you up," Coulson says, tossing Clint the laser pointer and turning his back to the group, facing the projections on the screen at the head of the room. 

Tandy's lips go thin and white and he looks like he's about to be sick. Clint can't help but grin. The guy has just realized all at once the kind of shit he's heaped on Clint's head all this time, just realized who he really is. Hawkeye is another name that's whispered in the hallowed halls of SHIELD, but there's a quiet rage mixed in with the sudden nerves. Clint's never acknowledged his authority but has called Coulson 'Boss' like the man has earned the title, though from an outside perspective he hasn't. He's also slagged Tandy's work pretty hard in the last few minutes, and essentially given Clint permission to take it down to the floorboards by detailing it's faults one by one. 

There are plenty to choose from, and hey, _surprise,_ Clint's smart enough to catch each and every one.

Oh, this is gonna be _fun._

Maybe briefs don't suck so much after all.


End file.
